


Pull the Blackout Curtains Down

by deletable_bird



Series: What We Do In The Dark [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alcohol, Alien Biology, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Drunk Sex, Drunkenness, Fluff, M/M, Oral Sex, Rimming, Smut, Vampire Sex, Wine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-16
Updated: 2015-09-16
Packaged: 2018-04-21 03:09:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4812731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deletable_bird/pseuds/deletable_bird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Despite the fact that there’s only the barest illumination filtering into the basement from the deeply unused kitchen at the top of the stairs, you can see almost every detail of Karkat’s face. He smiles a tiny smile and turns over, his body bent in a half-moon like he’s spooning an invisible being. Your eyes flicker down the lines of his body before you can stop them (you don’t really want to) and there’s a familiar swooping sensation in the pit of your stomach. You are whipped for this boy and you have been for a very long time.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pull the Blackout Curtains Down

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Fall Out Boy's _Immortals_

Considering the fact that you and your crush were both immortal, undead beings, it was a feat of determination and probably a whole lot of luck that you both somehow managed to ingest enough alcohol to be, at the current moment, prostrate on your basement floor staring at the ceiling.

You were drunk. Yep. Nice.

“Did you ever do this before?” you blurt out, and Karkat snorts.

“What do you think?” he replies, his voice surprisingly lucid. Also surprisingly, wine has erased all but the most essential swearing from his vocabulary, although his voice is still the low purr with a raspy undertone as it always has been. It still makes your spine tingle.

“I mean, I don’t know, I’ve never done it before so I guess . . .” you trail off pretty hopelessly, and glance over at Karkat. He’s looking at you as well, gee golly jeepers just look at that, we all looking at each other, eyes all around men, okay stop now.

Despite the fact that there’s only the barest illumination filtering into the basement from the deeply unused kitchen at the top of the stairs, you can see almost every detail of Karkat’s face. He smiles a tiny smile and turns over, his body bent in a half-moon like he’s spooning an invisible being. Your eyes flicker down the lines of his body before you can stop them (you don’t really want to) and there’s a familiar swooping sensation in the pit of your stomach. You are whipped for this boy and you have been for a very long time.

“I haven’t ever been drunk before now,” he tells you, his eyes locking with yours. He’s barely inches away. If your heart could still beat, it would be sprinting away like the man that realizes he’s in Dracula’s castle at dinnertime.

“You’re a lot nicer this way,” you tell him, and it’s a mark of the severity of his state of intoxication that he doesn’t shriek and hit you.

“I might, could, be able to say the same, as to you,” he says, stumbling over the majority of the words and ending the phrase like a question. “That didn’t sound right?”

“No,” you agree.

There’s a pause. Your thoughts are slowly turning round your head like a gradually dying merry-go-round, only significantly less melancholy-inducing. His nearness is almost as dizzying as the wine.

Karkat takes a breath, his eyes searching your face. “Do you ever wonder what you look like?”

You realize that you do, although that could just be the fact that it was Karkat who suggested it. Regardless, the last time you looked in a mirror was circa seventy five years ago. You probably look pretty damn different now.

“Yeah I think,” you reply. If you had the capabilities to blush, your face would be red.

“What _do_ I look like?” Karkat blurts out, and he looks so embarrassed two seconds later that you almost laugh. He’s adorable.

“Well,” you say. “First of all you’re pale as fuck.”

“I know that,” he tells you, and you press two fingers over his lips unthinkingly. “Shhh, I’m talking.”

His eyes flutter briefly closed and he nods. You take your hand away, your fingertips tingling, and search for the right words.

“You have these . . . eyelashes,” you say, and pause. “They’re like, half an inch long I swear. And, like, really dark. Like your hair. And just as thick.”

His hand automatically darts to his eyes and he brushes his nails over his lashes. “They don’t feel—” he starts. You stop him again, and once he’s silent you boop the tip of his nose. The undeniable urge to giggle wells up in your chest.

“Your nose looks kind of like a radish,” you say without thinking, and he almost says something no doubt deeply offended before you hastily amend, “I mean it’s cute and has a funny snubby end and it’s, I don’t know, spicy? Anyway it’s a nice nose.”

He lets a long breath out, apparently satisfied. “Thanks, I guess.”

“And you have,” you say, reaching out without thinking and brushing your fingertips across his cheeks and nose, “freckles. All over here. They’re fucking adorable, man.”

He wrinkles his nose under your touch but doesn’t slap you away. Your eyes lock again and your breath (if you still needed to breathe) would have caught in your throat.

“Okay my turn,” you say after a tense moment, even though there are a thousand more things you could name about his face, and he snorts and studies your face skeptically.

“You’re pale as fuck too,” he tells you, “and you have freakishly blonde eyelashes. It’s like snowflakes or something but they’re, yeah.”

His eyes skim over your face, and his finger comes out to touch your lower lip, lightly.

“You know your fangs right,” he says, and continues without waiting for an answer. “They poke out over your bottom lip, like, here and here,” his finger alights soft as a cat’s whisker twice on your mouth, “and you’ve got, like, these little bumps,” his fingertip skims up to run along the top of your upper lip, “where they show up under your top lip, and when you talk they get in the way just the tiniest bit and you have this itty bitty lisp and I actually really like it and I always listen for you to say _s_ words.”

He says the last bit in a rush, but you only smile lazily at him and blink once, slowly. He returns the smile, his nervousness fading visibly, and alters his hand on your face so he’s got your cheek cupped in one hand and his thumb stroking slowly, oh-so-slowly over your lower lip.

 _Tingles_. Damn.

“And you have, this, mouth.”

You try to say something but he honest-to-God pinches your lips shut. It doesn’t hurt, but the pressure releases some kind of endorphin rush through your body (if you still had endorphins) and something starts dancing the tango below your ribcage. His own lips purse slightly in sympathy, his eyes fixed on your mouth, as he slowly releases.

“It’s unfairly perfect. Stupidly perfect.”

His face is about an inch away from yours and it physically hurts your chest in the best way possible (or it would if you could feel pain).

“You know what,” he says, so quiet even you have to strain to hear him, “I’m just going to, you know—”

And now he’s kissing you.

After several seconds of shock you return the slight, soft pressure, and tilt your head to get a better angle. His tongue slips into your mouth, and you gasp slightly at the pressure against your fangs, which are far more sensitive than the rest of your teeth. He tastes sweet and winey, and you can’t wait to get your hands on all of him.

You roll yourself over him until you’re straddling his hips, and cup his face in both hands. It’s kind of an awkward angle to be kissing at but you enjoy the feeling of being atop him far too much to alter anything happening right now.

His hands find your neck, deliciously warm-cool against your skin, and he makes a tiny _mmmh_ into your mouth. The feeling of his tongue slick-sliding against yours is stirring something akin to butterflies in the pit of your stomach. At least it would if you had a stomach you still used to put food in. Vampire technicalities.

His hands slide down your chest together before leaving each other to grip your hips and slide up your shirt, rucking up the fabric as they trace a tingling trail up your ribs and breastbone. You hum against his lips and feel him smile before his fingertips find a nipple and holy _shit_ your whole body just jerked with a ridiculously sudden flood of arousal.

His dancing fingers trace up your chest, smoothing the pad of his thumb over your collarbone, before he breaks away from you with a soft mouthy sound and whispers “Take your shirt off.”

You hasten to comply, whipping the offending piece of clothing off so quickly he giggles. It’s a high, breathy, very drunk sound, but it makes you so happy that a balloon of floaty glowy shit fills your chest so much there’s a faint ache that is quite possibly the best thing that’s ever happened. He lurches upward, shifting you backwards so you’re planted ass-first on his thighs, and kisses you slow and deep. Everything that runs through your head sounds like a line from a bad romance novel, but knowing Karkat’s technique for getting himself through the long sleepless vampire nights (i.e. fictional romance of the worst quality in every shape and form) you’re pretty sure he would appreciate each and every cliché that strolls through your mind as much as you appreciate overly convoluted metaphors, none of which you can seem to summon to mind at the moment because his mouth is on your collarbone and his tongue is just a degree cooler than your skin and it’s spreading tingles all the way down your back _oh fuck yes teeth yes teeth more teeth_ —

You arch backwards, baring your throat in an unconscious but very, _very_ submissive gesture, clinging onto Karkat’s shoulders for dear life, and he kind of growls against your chest and shoves you backward and the way your head clunks against the floor _would_ have hurt but it doesn’t so fuck that, just pay attention to Karkat and the fact that he’s sucking the hickey of all hickeys onto your neck and despite the fact that you have impervious vampire skin you’re ninety-nine percent sure he’s going to leave a mark and you can’t think of a single thing you’d like better right now to be honest.

The soft growling noises he’s purring against your chest are sending vibrations of the best kind straight to your vampire dick (of the kind that can’t impregnate anything anymore but still kind of works). You shove your fingers into his thick mess of a mane and dig your nails into his scalp, and he arches up into the touch with a high keening whimper.

And the balance of power is shifted again, and you grin down at him, gazing through your lashes, thumbing his lower lip, before pushing his head farther down your torso and landing, bingo! at the jackpot.

His fingers dart up and undo your fly (you took off your belt and threw it across the room sometime earlier this evening in the midst of a half-drunken speech, you don’t remember why) and the moment he gets your a-little-past-half-hard dick out of your pants it’s in his mouth, one hand wrapped around the base and the other sneaking down past the smooth skin, sans any type of balls, straight to your asshole and sending shivers up and down pretty much every possible bone in your body.

He sucks a long wet kiss onto the head of your prick, and his fangs scrape briefly against it. It triggers pain but not agony, impervious vampire skin preventing any kind of real injury but letting just enough sensation get through to bring you all the way up to, hello, yes, we have a fully-hard and sexually-frustrated Dave Strider over here with one singular extremely (deeply unfairly) attractive Karkat Vantas sucking his _motherfucking vampire dick_ , holy fucking _shit_ this is the best, the absolute best, and you don’t know what it’s the best of by any means because the aforementioned Vantas just grabbed you by the hips and flipped you over onto all fours with an amount of force that, if you’d been human, would have broken your kneecaps as you landed.

His nails dig into your ass and you quite possibly have a conniption, arching your back and seeing something akin to stars (more like flittery twinkly lights of utter adoration and horniness). When his mouth presses to your coccyx and starts heading downtown your head pretty much just flies off, and the next ten minutes are a blur of melting pleasure and flashes of heat and cold and the best kind of shock. Vampires still have something quite closely resembling a human digestive system for the sole reason that some of them like to keep the pleasure of ingesting tasty food, and even though you haven’t eaten for half a century you couldn’t be more glad that you still have the bits necessary to get buttfucked.

You shove your behind very rudely back into Karkat’s face and he growls out a laugh against your skin. And then he spits, and you spout out a shriek-y kind of giggle at the sudden cold. His growly laugh turns liquid, smoothed out by the wine but just as amazing as his regular kind-of-purr, kind-of-growl, just a little bit chorus-of-angels. He spits again, and again, and you can feel his breath on your left asscheek. It should be ridiculous, your pants and boxers still around your thighs and Karkat’s tongue in your literal asshole, and it is ridiculous. But also ridiculously hot.

His mouth disappears and his fingertip slowly eases into you, helped along the way by naturally slick vampire saliva. It’s all in blood-sucking mechanics; you shove your fangs into someone’s neck, most likely someone you’ve seduced, and they scream and hit you and probably have a heart attack. But if you make the situation out like you’re giving them a hickey, you have a perfectly lubricated, lightly numbed, nicely sanitized human neck ready for the devouring. The numb-inducing effect didn’t work on fellow vampires’ impervious-to-injury skin, another thing you’re extremely grateful for at the moment. It would be a huge boner killer if all this was doing was numbing you up so you could have a nice, boring, possibly painful experience.

Karkat works his finger farther into you and hisses through his teeth, probably at how tight you are. You would be embarrassed, but instead you push yourself back against him again, burying your face in the crook of your elbow, and muffling your gasp in your skin as he gets another finger in alongside the first. The pressure is almost pain, almost unbearable, but you relax and you breathe and before too long he can move. Not too long after that, he can add more spit, and a third finger. A short amount of time later, you’re gasping and biting back whimpers as he plays you like an electric bass. You can feel the vibrations of sensation thrumming through your bones (that’s superhuman strong-as-titanium vampire bones to you) and your breathing is already ragged and desperate.

“Can I— _fuck_ —” he whimpers, pushing himself up and running his hands up your back, under your shirt, and you bow into his touch and exhale long and shaky.

“Yeah. Yes. Please.”

There’s the clink of a belt buckle, the pop of a fly, the scratch of a zip. His dick presses into your asscrack, skin sliding against slick skin and you almost choke, partially at the sensation and partially at how ridiculous this is. You’re drunk, in your basement, about to have the most generic of human gay sex—and of all things, you’ve ended up _bottoming_.

You can’t think of a single fucking thing you’d change about the position you’re in right now.

He spits, probably into his hand, and then you can feel him jerk himself twice over your lower back. Barely a breath later he adjusts his prick and pushes into you.

You shake and tremble and gasp and tense, and he draws in a sharp breath and probably traps his lower lip under his teeth, not seductively but an honest-to-God sucking his entire lower lip into his mouth and digging his fangs into the skin below it. It’s one of your favorite habits of his. He folds himself in half, curling over you, and you almost snort because he’s still half-a-head shorter than you and when he lays his cheek on your back the top of his head reaches only to the nape of your neck. It’s adorable and funny and not particularly sexy, at least not until he moves and he presses his prick even farther inside you. It’s slick and hot and unbearable, tight and breathless and amazing, and you shove yourself back against him, setting the best rhythm you can.

He tries to keep the beat, you can really tell he does, but you’re both drunk and not very coordinated despite being the most graceful of beasts, and eventually you both deteriorate into whispered huffs of breath and tiny hums and whimpers against skin. He fucks you slow and you guess sweet, at the very end pulling you up so you’re seated in his lap, his chest against your back and him still inside you. It takes an amount of twisting and gasping and stretching, but at last you get the right position and it gets him even deeper inside you than before. It doesn’t take long for both of you to come this way, desperate and gasping with his hand on your dick and your hands clenched tight enough on his knees to leave white marks.

You sit there for a moment, and then, slowly, like a majestic tree cut off at the base, you topple forward onto the area rug. It’s really not comfortable but you’re exhausted, and there’s no mess to clean up (yay reproducing by biting people instead of sexy times). Karkat’s breath is surprisingly soothing against your bare skin, and you manage to do one thing before you just about drop into a coma right then and there.

You shift yourself around so you can look Karkat’s face. He looks completely out of it, lids drooping and lips parted, slack. You run the pad of your thumb over his lower lip.

“Talk tomorrow?” you say. It takes him a moment to register what you said, but he nods.

“Definitely tomorrow,” he says. “Tonight, let’s just pretend we’re normal. Let’s pretend we can sleep and, I don’t know, cuddle like regular people who’ve fucked for the first time do. Let’s wait.”

You manage a grin and a single kiss, and pull him into your arms. Tonight, this is pretty much all you can think you need.


End file.
